Maybe Tomorrow
by coveredinbees14
Summary: A fluffy little two-shot complete with slash (Sprace) and AU (modern-ish day H.S.) Basically, Race has a crush. Rated T for safety due to cussing and innuendo. (added another chapter...sorry!)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies

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Why the idea of holding study hall in the auto shop classroom ever seemed like a good idea was beyond Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins. The sounds coming from the garage adjoining the classroom made it impossible to study. And of course the teacher was almost always absent as he preferred to spend his time helping those kids fortunate enough to have cars do maintenance. So the students were left to their own devices which basically consisted of doing anything but studying.

"Look who came back from juvey," Alex muttered when Sean Conlon walked in the room and tossed his hall pass onto the empty teacher's desk before taking a seat. Race didn't need to look. Every inch of his body knew that Sean had just entered the room. Just like every inch of him knew Sean had been gone for two weeks, three days, and 13 hours. But rather than admit that Race tried to appear as interested as possible while Alex applied midnight blue polish to her nails.

"Christ, just go talk to him," she told him without looking up. "And quit breathing heavy in my ear and shit."

"I can't," Race answered shortly. "It ain't that easy."

"Sure it is," Alex told him. She capped the nail polish and blew on her nails as she turned in her seat.

"Don't even think about it," Race interrupted. He didn't dare look over his shoulder to see if Sean had noticed. He probably hadn't as Race knew perfectly well that the most likely scenario was that Sean was either already asleep at his desk or scowling at the clock as if that would make time move any faster.

"Race, how long have I known you?" Alex asked.

"Since second…"

"Right, since second grade. And in all that time I've never seen you back down from anything. So stand up, go over there, and talk to him." She grinned broadly. "Or do more than talk. He's very good at what he does."

Race frowned down at the notebook in front of him. "I can't believe you slept with my crush."

"Oh, give it a rest. It was a one-time thing and it was two years ago, I might point out," Alex explained. "At least I've talked to him. Although, there was very little talking involved."

She nudged his shoulder jokingly but Race was in no mood. "How do I even know how he'll react? What if I go over there and he tells me to fuck off?"

"Fine, we'll just keep sitting here until the bell rings and then you can run off and waste another whole day pretending not to notice him. Good plan."

"I'm serious, Alex." Race rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans and the smile faded from Alex's face as she looked at him.

"Like I said, if you never talk to him, you're never gonna know. If he tells you to fuck off, then screw him. Not literally. You're a decent guy, Race. He'd be lucky," Alex told him. She uncapped the bottle of nail polish and went back to work.

"Maybe tomorrow."

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Author's Note: Well, that was a little silly but sometimes you just need a break from doom and gloom :-) Just wanted to also say that I tend to go by the popular idea of Spot's real name being Sean (in more modern-ish stories) but feel free to change it to whatever you life. After all, Spot doesn't belong to me ;-) Enjoy and as always reviews are welcome and appreciated! Thank you! (oh, and this is my first ever time writing slash so I hope it wasn't too terrible! There are some really wonderful slash authors out there so please read and review their pieces...they are amazing!)


	2. Chapter 2

Race was frantically searching through the contents at the bottom of his locker, shoving aside scraps of loose leaf and old Starburst wrappers. He knew he was wasting time. His chemistry homework simply wasn't there and all the searching in the world wasn't going to make it appear before the bell rang. When he finally made an appearance in the classroom his chemistry teacher simply handed Race a detention slip and he headed toward Room 101, resigned to his fate.

Mr. Treadway had apparently drawn the short straw in the teacher's lounge that day and had been assigned to look after detention that afternoon. Race signed in and slumped into a seat in the back corner, hoping to avoid contact with the other miserable looking students.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Race looked up to find Sean Conlon standing in front of him with a scowl on his perfect face. Well, perfect in Race's opinion. The fact that Race's heart didn't leap out of his chest and go running around the room was a point in his favor, at least he thought so.

"W-What?" Race managed to stammer and instantly wished the floor would open and swallow him whole.

"Move, fucker," Sean told him. He pointed at the ink drawings scrawled across the surface of the desk. "This is my seat."

Race wasn't sure what to think of the fact that Sean had been to detention so often that he actually had an assigned seat, even if it was self-assigned. He had always been aware of the fact that Sean spent most of his time in in-school suspension, or out of school suspension, or off at the juvenile facility. But it was kind of tragic to actually be there to see it in person.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Conlon?" Mr. Treadway interrupted.

"No problem," Race spoke up as he gathered his belongings and shifted one seat over.

"Bitch," Sean muttered as he flopped down into the newly vacant seat and threw his feet up onto the chair in front of him.

Race nearly bit his tongue in half trying to avoid saying something he knew he'd regret. Instead, he flipped open his chemistry text and started over on the homework that had been due earlier that day. Since he'd already completed the assignment it shouldn't have been that difficult but Race stared at the same question for a full two minutes. Being within two feet of Sean put him on edge in a way he hadn't experienced before. When he finally put pen to paper it took another few minutes before he stopped zoning out enough to realize Sean was talking to him.

"What?"

"You're doing it wrong," Sean explained with a glance at Race's paper.

Race took a breath and scowled. "Attend a lot of science classes in juvey, do you?"

Sean blinked once but the expression on his face didn't change. "It has teeth."

Race hooked his arm around his paper and hunched forward in an attempt to block Sean's view. "If you don't mind, I'd actually like to pass this class."

"Fuck you then," Sean told him. There was no malice in his voice as he leaned back and closed his eyes, apparently intending to sleep his way through the rest of the afternoon.

Race held his head in his hands and debated just handing the paper over. It wasn't like he could get any work done anyway with Sean sitting right next to him. The only thing that Race could seem to focus on was how badly he wished he could have started the whole conversation over.

* * *

The cold from the stone steps began to seep through Race's jeans and he stared toward the entrance to the school's driveway with an irritable expression. Stupid Alex, he told himself as he checked his phone for the umpteenth time. He debated calling his parents but figured if they didn't already know about his detention, then it wouldn't hurt to try and avoid telling them. The student parking lot was practically empty and Race watched with amusement as his old lab partner, David, straggled along behind Jack and Sarah on their way toward Jack's car. David had always reminded Race of an overgrown puppy, eagerly lapping up any leftovers (girls, advice, etc) Jack bothered to toss his way.

"Hey, fucker." Race felt his stomach simultaneously drop and leap up into his throat as he heard Sean's voice behind him.

Race did his best to try and sound nonchalant but was only able to squeak out a weak, "Hey."

There was the sound of cellophane ripping as Sean unwrapped a new pack of cigarettes and tapped the box against his palm. Race stared down at the scuffed oxblood Docs Sean wore and tried his best not to follow the sight up from Sean's ratty jeans to the punk tshirt he always wore.

"You need a ride or something?" Race looked up to see Sean's piercing stare. Over time Race had been able to fool himself into thinking he could ignore Sean but he'd never been able to get over the effect Sean's eyes had on him. Race had heard Sean's blue eyes described just about every way possible but none of those descriptions came close in Race's opinion.

"No, thanks. I'm waiting on a friend," Race answered finally. Sean turned to walk away and Race swallowed the lump in his throat. He picked his bag up off the ground and slung it over his shoulder before catching up to Sean. "Hold on. Guess she ain't gonna show."

Sean shrugged ambivalently and led Race toward a beat up car that, to Race, looked like it was made up of more duct tape, JB Weld, and epoxy than anything else. Still, it was a car and that was a hell of a lot more than Race had.

If anyone had asked Race that morning where he thought he'd be that afternoon, he would have never said sitting inside Sean Conlon's car. The interior really didn't give any clue to Sean's personality. There were a few empty cigarette packets and some discarded Red Bull cans but nothing personal or intimate. Race grinned to himself as he figured maybe the backseat would have more clues given Sean's reputation.

"So, where we going?" Sean asked, interrupting Race's train of thought.

"Um, Charlton Road. You know it?"

"Ritzy," Sean scoffed bitingly. He flipped his lighter open and lit the cigarette that dangled from his lips. He blew a stream of smoke out the window and Race was suddenly very inclined to take up smoking. He rubbed his palms against his jeans and stared out the window as Sean drove out of the parking lot.

Race rubbed his neck in the uncomfortable silence. "You got any music?"

Sean pointed at the space in the console that was empty except for a jumble of wires hanging out. "Some asshole stole the radio."

Race cringed in embarrassment. How could he not notice the radio was missing? He blamed his oversight to the fact that he was trying his best not to become absorbed by watching Sean's fingers wrapped around the gear shift.

"So, did you, like, buy this car yourself?"

"Yeah. Don't have rich-ass parents to buy me shit like most of you fuckers."

"I don't have a car," Race answered defensively. Sean sent him a withering look and Race blushed at his outburst.

"You drive stick?" Sean asked after a minute.

Race considered the possibility that there was some kind of innuendo in that question but he was honestly still perplexed by Sean. He went with the most basic answer. "Never learned."

Sean smirked. "What kind of girl are you?"

"I never went to white trash driving school," Race shot back. He was getting more flustered by the minute.

Sean reached over and placed Race's hand on the gear shift. "I'll teach you."

Race instantly pulled his hand back into his lap with a knee-jerk reaction and his heart beating in his throat. He regretted pulling away like that but Sean didn't seem insulted.

"I-it's this one," Race managed to tell Sean as the car pulled closer to his house. He sat for a second in the silence and fiddled with the strap on his bookbag. "Sean, I…um."

"Oh, here," Sean interrupted as he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Race.

As he unfolded it Race saw Sean had completed the chemistry homework with the seemingly correct answers. At the bottom was a 7 digit number signed 'Spot' underneath.

"Spot?" Race asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why Spot?"

The corners of Sean's mouth turned up as he looked at Race. "You'll find out."

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OK, please be kind :-) I'm new to writing slash pieces :-) I apologize if anyone thinks I ruined Sprace or just totally missed the mark - I really just wanted to write and this is what turned up - I honestly think my muse is messing with me ;-) As always reviews are welcome and appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure about this?"

Race took a deep breath as he stared up at the apartment building. He stood next to Alex on the broken sidewalk and tried to will himself to open the door. The entrance was littered with graffiti and one bare bulb hanging above the cinderblock steps outside the door was the only visible light.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Race said. He put one hand on the door and moved to open it.

"You want me to stick around?" Alex asked with a look of concern.

"Nah," Race told her. He stepped into the dim lobby. As far as he could tell the only sound was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Race tugged at the bottom of his shirt as he made his way up in the elevator. His mouth went dry and he clenched and unclenched his hands nervously as he worked up the nerve to knock on the door. It looked like the door may have been painted white at one point but had since been covered in dirt and grime. A couple of deep dents gave Race the impression it had also been kicked in more than once. Race took another deep breath and knocked quietly. His stomach leapt to his throat as he waited and gathered the courage to try again.

"Fucking what?" Race didn't know whether to laugh or run when he heard Sean's gruff answer as he opened the door.

"Um, hey, I…" Race began. His voice faded as he saw Sean's face. If looks could kill, Race would have died right there on the front steps. This was such a mistake. Race tried to cover the awkward silence by throwing his friend under the bus. "Alex gave me your address."

Sean didn't say a word.

Race gulped. "You know, etiquette says you should invite people in rather than making them stand on your doorstep."

If Sean Conlon even knew how to spell etiquette, Anthony Higgins would have been surprised. But then he remembered the chemistry homework and figured there were probably more sides to Sean than he knew.

"What's etiquette say about showing up unannounced and uninvited?" Sean asked evenly.

"Good point," Race smiled sheepishly. He looked down at his sneakers and kicked idly at the linoleum floor. "Didn't see you in school today."

When there was no response he looked up to see Sean was gone. The door was left open and Race went back and forth about whether to wait there or to go inside.

"You coming or not?" Sean asked from somewhere inside.

Race stepped hesitantly through the door and into a living room that was cluttered but neater than he had expected. A mute television flashed in the corner and the only other furniture in the room was a couch that looked like it had seen better days. Race turned the corner and found Sean standing in the kitchen, opening and slamming cupboard doors.

"You want something to drink, Emily?" he pulled a plastic cup from one of the cabinets. The kind you could get at the movie theater.

"Emily?"

"Emily Post." Sean maintained a strict straight face.

Race laughed nervously. "I get it."

Sean raised an eyebrow as though he doubted it but didn't say anything about it. He took the drink Sean offered and sipped at it in the awkward silence.

"So, you, um, live here?"

Sean shook his head in disbelief and led Race back into the living room. Race really wished Sean would take the TV off mute so there would be some sound other than his heart beating in his chest as he wished the floor would open and swallow him whole.

"I was at Rikers," Sean said as Race stared intently at an infomercial about some kind non-stick cookware.

"What?"

"Rikers. The prison?"

"Oh." Race began to seriously question whether he just stepped willingly into the home of a serial killer. Of course his mind jumped to the worst conclusion. Because that was just the way his mind seemed determine to work. The fact that Sean said these things with the most calm expression only unnerved Race further.

"Visiting my dad," Sean finally explained. He gave Race a sidelong look. "If you could keep that to yourself, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure," Race agreed. He waited for a minute. "What did he do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sean stood and returned to the kitchen where he opened the small window over the kitchen sink. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and lit it. He turned back to Race, "My mom hates when I smoke in here."

Race understood that the conversation about Sean's father was over. It seemed that Sean was only willing to give the tiniest of insights into his life before he went right back to shutting everyone out. Race sipped at his drink as he watched Sean stare out the window and admitted that he was more than willing to wait for Sean to open up.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this is so short! There is another part to this chapter, I promise! I just wanted to get this out there in case I lost it (cpu problems!). Enjoy!

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"20 milliliters."

"I mean, it's not like I've never asked anyone out before."

"20 milliliters, Race."

"I have asked out plenty of people, for your information."

"Terrific. Either measure out 20 milliliters or hand over the beaker."

Race went to slide the beaker across to his lab partner, David, but forgot about the rubberized surface of the countertop they were working on. The beaker tipped over, spilling liquid all over the front of Race.

"Least it wasn't acid," David pointed out weakly.

"Very helpful," Race told him. Their teacher simply pointed to the door and Race threw his safety goggles down on the counter before exiting to the boy's bathroom.

"Son of a bitch," Race muttered as he reached into the paper towel dispenser and found it empty. He spun around to look for another dispenser and saw Sean leaning back on the window ledge and watching Race.

"Chemistry accident," Race explained.

"Likely story," Sean said evenly. It was hard to tell with the light shining through the window behind him but Race had a feeling Sean was laughing at him.

"You're about as helpful as my lab partner," Race said crossly.

Sean stubbed his cigarette out in the corner of the window sill and hopped down to where Race stood. He peeled off the oversized sweatshirt he was wearing and held it out to Race.

"I'm fine, thanks," Race told him. He hated being laughed at, especially by a person he had been considering asking out just moments before.

"It's clean," Sean explained. Race instantly felt ashamed that Sean assumed he had something against the sweatshirt because he'd been to Sean's house and seen the living conditions.

"I'm sorry, I just meant…" Race began as he took the sweatshirt. He pulled the material over his head and felt his heartbeat quicken as he breathed in the intoxicating blend of tobacco and wintergreen that he'd come to associate with Spot.

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Looks better on you, anyway."

"So, um, I was wondering if, maybe, you…I mean, I…" Race stammered as he twisted his hands in the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

"You know that Starbucks over on Greenwood?" Spot asked. He pulled a Sharpie out of the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed Race's hand. Race felt his mouth go dry as Spot sketched an address and time onto the palm of his hand and he wished with all his heart that he wouldn't end up sweating the information off.

"1 a.m.?" Race asked, looking down at the block handwriting. "Why 1 a.m.?"

"That's when my shift is over," Spot explained. He stepped back and looked Race up and down. "Keep the sweatshirt. It really does look better on you."

Race felt the tips of his ears grow red. He glanced down at his palm and back up at Spot. "You know, you still haven't told me why Spot."

Spot grinned wickedly. "I told you, you'll find out."

As he watched Spot disappear down the hallway Race realized he was in way over his head. He wrapped his arms around his chest and hurried back toward chemistry class. He couldn't wait to tell David Jacobs that not only did he have a date for that night, but he didn't even have to go through with asking.


End file.
